


memento mori

by bellmare



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Community: kh_drabble, F/M, flower symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellmare/pseuds/bellmare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything lives, everything dies -- simple facts she would much rather not remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	memento mori

He is fond of reminding her of the fact that she is his plaything.

 

When she opens her eyes in the morning, when she shuts off the lights at the onset of midnight, his presence lingers at the back of her mind like a malignant shadow, unravelling any train of thought she attempts to compose.

 

Some days, she finds a single scarlet rose lying innocuously on her pillow, shedding its lush scent over the linen; other times, she wakes up to find clumps of white clover scattered around her dresser, flower-heads nodding sleepily with the draught from her open window.

 

Marluxia is the one who teaches her the secret language of flowers, opening her eyes to a whole new world of meaning, trapped within their coyly-whorling petals.

 

Amaryllis for pride and splendid beauty, edelweiss for daring and courage, jasmine for modesty and grace. Aster for wishes, and cherry blossoms for the transience of life; anemone for vanishing hopes, rhododendron for danger and mock-orange for deceit. She has learnt them all, and wonders what would happen once she is unable to take any more.

 

That day comes when the Keyblade master makes his appearance in Castle Oblivion, storming through the hollow, hallowed halls with a feverish intensity she has never seen before. One moment she is alone, staring at her white knuckles clenched around the spiral spine of her sketchpad, and the next, she feels his presence over her shoulder, cool, leather-gloved hands settling momentarily upon her shoulder.

 

“I trust you know what to do,” he purrs, gently ruffling her hair in a mocking parody of an affectionate gesture. She nods mutely, not trusting herself to speak.

 

Just as he is about to leave, he leans down to her, breath tickling her ear as his lips curve into a smirk she cannot see, but can definitely feel. “Remember, little nightingale, if you choose to disobey, to stretch your wings … _memento mori_ , my weedling.”

 

And then he is gone, leaving nothing but the perfume of cherry blossoms in his wake, a delicate fragrance superimposed over what Naminé is certain is the tang of death, bittersweet and burning the back of her throat.

**Author's Note:**

> For kh_drabble on Livejournal, written in 2010.


End file.
